


Ouroboros

by derriere_le_miroir



Category: Metal Gear
Genre: Age Difference, Blood, Corruption, Discipline/Punishment, Disturbing Themes, Dom/sub Undertones, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Military Ranks, One Shot, Oral Sex, PTSD, Parent/Child Incest, Power Dynamics, Psychological Trauma, Rough Sex, Shower Sex, Torture, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-09-18
Updated: 2014-06-27
Packaged: 2017-12-26 23:16:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/971442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/derriere_le_miroir/pseuds/derriere_le_miroir
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Another one of those one-shot collections. MG1/MG2.</p><p>Big Boss/Solid Snake slash in some of them, including explicit sexual content. Yes, really.</p><p>(Also, please check out the tags before reading!)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Merry Fucking Christmas

It’s Christmas Eve 1999, and Snake spends it frantically looking for a light.

When some of his seniors had told him, way back when he joined FOXHOUND as a fresh recruit almost six years ago, about how Big Boss was an entirely different man on the battlefield, Snake had found it almost difficult to believe given the man’s utmost composure at any time.

Ever since Outer Heaven, though, Snake understands all too well what they had really meant when they called Big Boss a demon and someone you don’t want to get on the bad side of, but what Snake wants has never been part of the equation. He’s running for his life, clinging to it with every remaining ounce of strength and mental sanity.

He’s felt scared and anxious on missions before, like any of his comrades, but he supposes nothing quite compares to the terror of knowing that Big Boss wants you dead. He rushes into the closest storage room, heart pounding against his ribcage and bandana drenched in cold sweat, asking himself for the umpteenth time if they really have to do this—and of course, the answer is always the same, _he wants it, I want it._ He either fights and murders the only family he has in the world right after finding out that he even has any, or he dies.

And Snake wants to live. It’s not much of a life so far, but it’s something, he’s sure. He just has to look for it—

_Let me put you out of your misery._

Shaking his head, Snake searches the crates for anything he might be able to use as a weapon, and curses under his breath when he finds nothing but cassette tapes. He swallows hard and flattens himself against the wall next to the door, when he hears Big Boss’s distant but no less booming voice, approaching.

"How long can you keep running, Snake? I find it quite insulting that you’re not even giving me a good fight. All that training’s been for nothing, I see."

_You have some nerve_ , Snake thinks, and grits his teeth, trying to keep his breathing shallow in an effort not to give his position away. _Treating this like a competition._ And yet he knows he has to move soon, because in a couple minutes this whole place is gonna blow. Maybe if he can find a way to trap Big Boss here—

_I wouldn’t have to see him die again._

"Do you hate me, _son_? I’m sure you do. Makes it easier, doesn’t it. Hate me all you want, it won’t change a damn thing.”

_But something already changed_ , Snake responds inwardly with a heavy heart, listening to Big Boss’s footsteps and getting ready to leave the room to make a run for it. He can’t give up yet. If there’s one lesson he’s going to remember, it’s this one.

_And it was you._

*

Big Boss flicked his antique zippo for the sixth, seventh time until it finally produced a flame he could hold to his third cigar since this session started, stubborn as it was—much like its owner, Snake would come to realize later in his life, as an old man. Right then, he didn’t have much time to ponder it since Big Boss had seen fit to indulge him in one of his private lessons again, which basically meant dutifully completing various tasks and exercises in the mud under his commander’s watchful eye.

After about thirty rounds in the courtyard, fifty pull-ups and a hundred sit-ups, he was now doing an indefinite number of push-ups, though he’d lost count somewhere around one hundred and thirty, and he could be sure that Big Boss would order him to do some more once he found out.

Between ragged breaths and blinking sweat out of his eyes, Snake glanced up at his CO, who was sitting on a tree trunk, occupied with and enjoying his nicotine. He occasionally blew some of the smoke in Snake’s direction, knowing full well that the other man would have liked a smoke break himself but not feeling generous enough to grant him one.

In the beginning, Snake had felt honored that Big Boss would take some time out of his busy schedule to supervise his training personally and take him aside for one on one sessions; but after some months of this he couldn’t shake the sneaking suspicion that Big Boss simply liked to torture him—why, he couldn’t quite fathom, since he’d never once acted out of line. Or at least he thought so. If there was a problem, he would have expected Big Boss to be straightforward and address it.

Or maybe it was all in his head. His train of thought was momentarily interrupted when he felt a sharp and sudden pain flare up in his shoulder, which in turn lead to him losing concentration, bending his wrist at an unnatural angle when he lowered his weight again, spraining it. Giving a pained grunt, his face made intimate contact with the muddy ground, and he would have liked to think that this—aside from the fact that his hands were thoroughly bruised and bleeding from a couple cuts—was indication enough that he’d had enough for one day.

Apparently Big Boss didn’t see it that way, however. When Snake didn’t move to continue with the exercises, he raised and inquiring brow at him.

"Did I say stop?"

"Sir," said Snake, out of breath. He shifted into a sitting position, wiping some of that dirt from his face with the back of his hand.

"I’m pretty sure I didn’t," was Big Boss’s only response to that unspoken plea, expression stern and unforgiving.

Snake gave him a disbelieving stare, and somewhat reluctantly resumed with the push-ups, doing his best not to cry out in pain every fucking time he strained that wrist, and only once he had completed fifty more, exhausted beyond words and under the most unbearable physical circumstances, Big Boss announced that they were done for today.

*

Snake would have expected Big Boss to dismiss him on the spot without caring much about the injuries he’d sustained (he’d witnessed him teaching others ‘real’ first aid in the field that way— _figure it out yourself_ ), and was all the more surprised when his commander instead personally walked him to the infirmary. It was late at night, so while they had medics on standby duty at HQ, none of them was currently around.

Big Boss ordered him to sit, before following suit and examining that wrist and the cuts, inflicted by angular rocks and branchwood. Snake tried not to squirm, but his Boss wasn’t particularly gentle about it. Good thing he had learned how to grit his teeth and bear it fairly early on. He regarded the other man with open curiosity, trying to figure out why, exactly, he was now taking care of him. Guilty conscience? Somehow he doubted it—what would Big Boss have to feel guilty about?

Snake remained quiet, at first, even when Big Boss cleaned and disinfected his wounds.

"Permission to speak freely, Sir," he said, eventually, with no small amount of hesitation. Big Boss grunted something of a reply, but it sounded vaguely affirmative.

"Do you hate me?"

Big Boss stopped and looked up with a narrowed eye. “What?” It seemed to be a kneejerk response, because he quickly continued, “Don’t be stupid. Personal feelings have no place in our line of work.”

Snake should have felt thoroughly reprimanded by that remark alone, and he did—but that alone didn’t deter him from giving another thoughtless comment of his a voice. If Big Boss already disliked him, he might as well give him a real reason.

"That’s kind of avoiding the question, isn’t it."

Snake yelped as his hurting wrist was immediately caught in a steel grip and twisted around. This time no amount of goodwill was going to stop him from squirming.

"Do you want me to break your arm?" Big Boss grated, and Snake shook his head, body bent and breathing heavily through his nose.

"No—I’m sorry, I wasn’t—"

"Thinking, that’s right," Big Boss spat, and released his wrist with more force than necessary, shooting Snake a warning glance before he picked it up again to continue his own work.

Snake didn’t speak up again and looked to the side, enduring the dull throb as Big Boss patched him up, now clearly in a sour mood. Time passed in silence, and Snake thought.

_I wish I knew what the hell is going on._

"If I hated you," Big Boss drawled after a while, ignoring Snake’s gaze and confusion, "Do you really think I would be doing this."

Snake couldn’t think of a good answer. “I… probably not… Sir.”

"And yet," Big Boss said, wrapping a bandage around Snake’s sprained wrist, and squeezing it roughly and intentionally once he was finished, causing Snake to grimace.

"It won’t stop hurting for a while, huh?"

*

_It’s not over._

_Not yet._

_Snake…_

_Not yet._

He’s running again, trying not to think, trying not to remember, trying not to picture Big Boss set ablaze by his own damn ideals, or whatever the hell had poisoned that mind of his at some point in his life. He doesn’t want to know anymore. He just wants to get out of here and never return, and forget, forget, forget what’s happened, what he’s done, maybe start a new life with Holly—

_I love_ —

He already knows he won’t.

*

He listens to the roaring engine of the chopper, and feels tempted to join Holly and take a nap until they are back at HQ, refusing to take any of the radio calls. Charlie’s all too aware of what Snake’s been through, and grants him a few moments of peace, no matter how obnoxious Campbell’s being. He’s done. Finished the mission. That’s all that matters.

Behind them, Zanzibarland, Big Boss’s second paradise, goes up in flames.

Snake doesn’t have to watch it burning to know what it looks like—he remembers the nightmare of Outer Heaven, the first time he had to kill the man he had trusted with his life before, and who’d shamelessly abused that trust. How he’d felt like throwing up after escaping the compound, breaking down in the puddle of his own miserable tears after the combat high had worn off— _I killed him_ —fully realizing what he had done.

This time, he doesn’t feel much of anything. A bloated emptiness where his heart had once been.

Before he closes his eyes and gives in to exhaustion, returning to the nightmares, Snake makes a promise, though—to himself. And to Big Boss.

_I swear I won’t turn out like you. You’ll see._


	2. Instincts

"Nine."

Again Snake’s already sore body met the ground, falling on a shoulder that had been aching for days already, starting when Big Boss, typically ruthless, first dislocated his arm. Snake ignored the blood he tasted in his mouth after biting down on his tongue and scrambled back to his feet, well aware that Big Boss wouldn’t tolerate him rolling around on the ground for too long. They had a set procedure, almost every evening, after the dismissal of all other FOXHOUND recruits —

"Focus, Snake."

It wasn’t for a lack of trying that he couldn’t get a hit in edgewise on Big Boss, but the older man’s technique and speed were just far superior to his own, and he’d never bothered much with explanations—Snake had to observe and figure it out himself, and so far, he hadn’t made any noticable progress.

"Ten." Snake heard the word before Big Boss finished effortlessly countering his next attack, and already knew that this had been another failed attempt, bracing himself for the impact. Groaning, he pushed himself off the mat again, and was infinitely glad that he would never have to face Big Boss in a serious fight; knowledge that faciliated a false sense of security and made him attach not much importance to these little sessions.

"My turn."

He remained on his feet for maybe three and a half seconds, before Big Boss charged, executing a very basic CQC technique; an over shoulder throw. Snake half-heartedly tried to fend him off, but to no avail—before long, Big Boss’s weight was on him, painfully twisting both arms against his back as he applied a steel grip, effectively pinning Snake to the ground.

He heaved a disgruntled sigh, and over the months Snake had learned to differentiate and read the nuances of the sounds his commander used to make when he was with him. He sounded a bit more on edge than usual today; perhaps because of the upcoming inspection of the unit and how it was being run, or maybe he was just fed up with Snake’s lackluster performance.

"No good," he rumbled, twisting Snake’s wrist a little more, who made a low guttural noise in the back of his throat.

"I am starting to think you somehow faked your results."

Snake found it hard to believe himself that he had the best overall score out of all recruits save one, but that wasn’t for him to question.

"To be fair, Sir," he said with his cheek against the mat, "As far as I know, not even Gray Fox managed to beat you during a sparring session."

Big Boss snorted loudly. “Is that your excuse?” Snake thought the bone in his wrist was close to snapping. “It won’t save you during a real fight.”

Snake chose to delay his response, at least until Big Boss let up on the pressure and thankfully, he did, gracefully dismounting his protégé. “Up,” Big Boss said as he stood, and Snake did as ordered, rubbing his aching wrist. If that and a lecture was all he would take home from this session, he was really lucky.

"I don’t think I’ll ever have to go up against someone with your skill," Snake said bluntly, but without meaning to be disrespectful. He knew he was good; and he took some pride in the fact that he was able to kick pretty much any other ass that was part of this unit, but he was also well aware of his limits. Big Boss was out of his reach, and he found no shame in admitting that.

"You think," Big Boss regarded him with a grim expression as he dusted off his BDUs. "I could be in the process of defecting right now. You never know."

Snake wasn’t sure if that was some weird and rare attempt at humor, but he didn’t find it funny either way.

"If that ever happened—"

"You’d just roll over and let yourself be shot!" He whacked Snake over the head for emphasis, with his steel hand, no less, and Snake yelped in pain, instinctively stepping to the side.

Didn’t see that coming. He supposed that was sort of the point.

"Is that what you’re getting from my lessons? To admit defeat in the face of seemingly overwhelming opposition? What is the most potent weapon in any battle, Snake?"

"Do we have to go through this again," Snake groaned, delicately touching the back of his head, eyeing his mentor suspiciously. Judging by that face…

"Yes."

Snake sighed.

"Will. The will to survive, no matter the cost," he recited something Big Boss liked to tell him over and over again, like it was some kind of mantra.

"Exactly," Big Boss said, momentarily pacified, but who knew for how long. "Don’t forget it. Enough for today, go shower, you stink."

To the point, as always. Snake kept staring at the ground, like he had been doing for a while now, feeling thoroughly reprimanded, like so often. Of course he knew that Big Boss wasn’t wrong, and that he had every right to be strict and unforgiving, or Snake would never grow as a soldier. Some days he chided himself for not appreciating the fact that he was even allowed to be here more.

And there was still so much he had to learn.

When he looked up, he was surprised that he saw Big Boss wandering off in the direction of the communal showers, rather than the wing reserved for the higher-ups. With a shrug but mixed feelings, Snake followed.

*

It was the first time they showered together, though not the last time.

Amongst themselves, new and old FOXHOUND recruits often liked to swap stories; about their own exploits, of course, but also of those higher up in the command chain. Fox, Miller, and Big Boss were favorite topics, although Snake was pretty sure rumors and wild guesses didn’t equal facts. There was a reason why their files were classified and that facts about each others personal lives were not to be shared; Snake couldn’t even put a real name to most faces he regularly saw on base.

However, in that instance, standing only a few feet away from his fully exposed commander and under the spray of lukewarm water caressing his bruises, he couldn’t help but think back to some of those very lively discussions.

_— Where did he lose that eye?_

_— The arm?_

_— What is that scar?_

He wasn’t openly staring, facing the tile wall instead, but unable to focus on anything but the other man in the corner of his vision. Currently standing in Big Boss’s blind spot, he assumed his commander wouldn’t notice, busy cleaning himself, even when Snake’s gaze drifted lower, curiosity getting the better of him.

He breathed a shaky sigh, almost a gasp, and quickly faced the other direction when Big Boss turned towards him as if on cue.

Snake hadn’t minded the silence so far; it made things less awkward, ironically enough. Thankfully, Big Boss said nothing, and Snake was glad for the water making the flush on his face appear more natural.

_Focus, Snake_ , Big Boss’s voice rang in his head, anyway. Too bad that said man never made that particularly easy and liked to constantly surprise him; but that made him stand out from the CO’s he’d had to deal with before. And somehow very refreshing, even if Snake rarely tried to communicate that— _I’m glad you’re not like the others._

There was just never a good opportunity to address these things, not that he even should. But unless he was ready to make mistakes and go against the flow, he’d never learn. About life, and the things that were important.

"You’re amazing, you know," Snake said very quietly, after a long while. He glanced at Big Boss to find the other man staring at the wall ahead of him, water painting his hair a darker shade of gray.

"But I’m sure you’ve heard that from enough people already. I just don’t want you to think I don’t appreciate what you have to teach m—"

"I haven’t heard it from you," Big Boss interrupted, unusually soft. Snake’s breath hitched, but he interpreted that as an incentive to go on—even a man like Big Boss must like some nice words every now and then, during unguarded moments, though Snake hoped he would not be crossing any lines. It was still his commanding officer, after all, even if he was given more leeway than most others.

"I’m serious," he said, passionately. He continued, wiping some dark strands of hair out of his eyes, "You know everything about me, don’t you? Perhaps more than I do; and while I know nothing about you or your reasons for choosing me, I’m glad you did. Because," Snake paused, frantically trying to find the right words.

"Someday I might die on a mission, but I don’t even care. This feels like home. And you – you feel like – family. FOXHOUND is the best thing to happen to me —"

Snake supposed he hadn’t been careful enough about crossing lines, because within the fraction of a second Big Boss was right in front of him, and a red hand around his throat, pushing him back and against the slippery wall of the showers. Snake reached for it automatically, struggling for breath; Big Boss’s face, twisted into something very sinister by unprecedented rage, inches away from his own.

And for some reason, Snake couldn’t stop staring at that burnt patch of skin, robbing him of one half of his eyesight.

"Shut up," Big Boss growled, dangerously low. _Not real_ , Snake tried to appease his fight or flight instinct. _He wouldn’t—_

"Don’t say stupid things, boy, because you will regret it. You hear me?"

Snake nodded, although he didn’t understand.

"Good." Big Boss’s grip relaxed, and Snake reflexively sucked in air, still processing what just happened—he was prepared for situations like this, it was just Big Boss and _what brought this on, why_ —

Only then did he realize how close the other man still was, towering a few inches above him, skin touching skin, hot breath sweeping over his face. It was making him dizzy, and frustrated, and so many other things.

"This isn’t fair," Snake heard himself say.

"It never is."

The next time one of Big Boss’s hands found his throat, it was a warm, living one, running up and over his smooth cheek, and Snake went with the little push, canting his head to the side when the older man smashed his mouth against his, kissing him aggressively.

Once again, Snake found himself unable to speak. Being deprived of his words like this, he instead resorted to his hands, bringing them up to Big Boss’s broad shoulders, clinging to scarred skin and muscle. He tried not to think too much, instead giving free rein to his body, moving against and with Big Boss to the best of his ability, but he supposed the man tended to be overwhelming in all aspects of life.

His brain made itself known again once Big Boss leaned his head back just an inch, teeth idly tugging on Snake’s bottom lip before letting it go.

"Uh," Snake said, lacking a smart or at least equally intense comeback. What he did remember all of a sudden was conduct, rules, everything else. "I – er – I’m going to get into trouble, I don’t think –"

"You think too much," Big Boss drawled, with slight amusement and a quirked brow. "I’m the only one to give you trouble. I’m in charge."

Snake stared at his lips, and licked over his own. “I’m in trouble either way.”

"That’s right."

Snake pulled Big Boss down and into another hungry, messy kiss that was mostly teeth and tongue. Maybe Big Boss was right – hell, when wasn’t he right – he shouldn’t think so much. _You need to listen to your body and your senses,_ he’d always say, this probably wasn’t any different. He moaned into the other man’s mouth when he felt his right hand cupping a particularly sensitive part between his legs, causing him to separate and look down.

"Do you want it," Big Boss asked him, voice hushed but firm. Snake leaned his head against his shoulder, clinging to his upper arms, and fairly sure he would have slipped by now were it not for the support both in front of and behind him.

"Yes," he muttered.

"I can’t hear you!"

Snake groaned when Big Boss squeezed him, habitually barking his reply.

"Yes! Sir!"

He was rewarded with a couple strokes, a calloused hand pumping his cock until it was fully hard, which didn’t take very long at all. Snake thrusted his hips into his commander’s warm palm, eyes squeezed shut and entirely focused on the body in front of him, and how amazing it felt. He would have never thought it would happen like this—

Or that it would happen at all. Not here. Snake gave a few strained gasps, trying to force out words.

"Maybe not here," he said, with little coherence, trying to stop himself from burying his teeth into Big Boss’s shoulder. Big Boss slowed gradually slowed down until he stopped altogether.

"Why, afraid any of your comrades might walk in on you sucking your CO’s cock."

Snake immediately pushed himself off the other man to look him in the eye, mouth agape, frowning deeply.

"What?" Then, "Is that a suggestion?"

It was one of those rare times Big Boss gave him a grin, smug and arrogant and making him appear several years younger than he was.

"Too _big_ of a task for you, Snake? I understand.”

Without another word and his lips tightly pressed together, Snake shoved his commanding officer out of the spray of water, and reversed their positions with little effort, thanks to Big Boss being unusually pliable in that moment. He immediately got down on his knees, hands running down Big Boss’s waist to settle at his thighs.

Perhaps it was too big of a task, especially for someone who had little to no experience, but like hell he wouldn’t even give it a try. He reached for Big Boss’s semi-hard cock, mentally simply referring to how he would handle his own, and just moved his hand back and forth a couple times, getting used to the size. Then he stopped, leaning in closer, and touching his lips to the head, before wrapping them around it and slide down the shaft as far as he could.

Above him, Big Boss gave a satisfied, low growl; more akin to a purr; which just served to spur Snake on, much like the cold hand on his head. It was beyond weird, thinking of all the straight porn he’d watched in his life and trying to imitate what he’d seen there as he sucked his commander off, but he didn’t care. If he could impress Big Boss just once, despite his stumbling, that was already good enough.

That, and he really wanted to fuck. He’d lie if he said he hadn’t thought about it before, and he didn’t give a damn about regretting anything afterwards.

He spit the older man’s cock out once he was in dire need of breath, stroking him and looking up.

"I want to know," Snake said. He could still taste Big Boss’s precome in his mouth. "Am I the only one?"

"No," Big Boss replied honestly, dragging Snake up and to his feet by his hair. "And you will never be."

Snake shouldn’t have felt as disheartened as he did, in that moment; being reminded just how many people must have claimed pieces of his heart, but it was naive to believe even for a moment that he could be the only person that mattered in someone’s life.

It was all right. What counted was the present, in which Big Boss was currently shoving him face first against that wall, and Snake already knew that he would need something to hold onto but find nothing. Big Boss pressed up against him, and Snake could feel his large, hard cock grind against his thigh.

"It’s going to hurt." Snake braced himself against the tiles with one hand, reaching behind himself and for some part of Big Boss with the other.

"You always hurt," he tried to quip, and was rewarded with some nails sharply being dragged down his stomach, causing him to writhe.

"Drop the sass."

"Sorry," he grated, and tapered off into a long, drawn out whine when Big Boss began to push inside, and his backside to burn; or at least, that’s what it felt like. Had it not been for Big Boss holding him up, his squirming would have made him slip and meet the ground again.

"Snake," he heard Big Boss’s steady voice behind him, and tried to focus on that, "Don’t think."

He held onto the other man’s wrist, the hand that was on his stomach and then fingers wrapping around his cock again, and tried not to think when Big Boss pulled out and pushed back in again, and again, fucking him at a slow, gruelling pace.

"Boss—"

_We live in the moment. We cannot afford to think about what the future holds in store for us; it’ll make us vulnerable._

Snake stubbornly bucked against him, growling, grunting, gasping; enduring the pain and relishing in it, all instinct, no thought. He came hard and quite vocally into his palm within a few minutes, much sooner than Big Boss did, but he’d held out for as long as he could without consciously restraining himself. Big Boss kept grinding into him until he was done, relasing into him quietly and quickly, and Snake collapsed.

Again, it was Big Boss that held him up.

*

In the locker room they dressed in silence, just as they had showered together in the beginning. Snake was still processing what had happened tonight; something of a sparring session that had went a little too far, but regret wasn’t the first thing on his mind. He felt even more sore than before and would probably for days to come, but there was something incredibly satisfying about being fucked so thoroughly.

He didn’t ask if that would remain a non-recurring affair. It was probably best not to speak of it at all from this point on, and yet it was Big Boss who addressed the issue again, buttoning up a pristine white shirt.

"Was this your first time?"

Snake could hardly dodge the question, as much as he wanted to.

"That obvious."

"Not really. You weren’t half bad. Better than in training."

Snake pulled up his pants, not sure what to make of that compliment or how to respond to it— _thanks for calling me a decent lay?_ "I just sorta let my instincts take over, that’s all."

Big Boss gave him a meaningful look, binding his own tie blindly, mechanically. “And you don’t do that in training… why, exactly.”

Snake shrugged, and Big Boss sighed, again.

"You need to work on that. You have this tendency to—" Big Boss gestured, helplessly. "Question everything. Even yourself."

"I thought that was a good quality to have."

"Sometimes. Most of the time, it will just hold you back. You’re talented, Snake, don’t let that talent go to waste. Or you’ll end up like one of those stuck-up pencil pushers from Washington that are coming over next week, trying to control everything because they’re afraid of the future."

"I won’t."

Big Boss considered him for a few moments, putting on his leather gloves, only to presumably get completely undressed again once he was back in his own quarters.

"I hope so," he said. "For your sake."

"Don’t worry about me. If I screw up it’s my problem. Not yours."

One of those exasperated sighs again, almost a grunt. “Whatever,” Big Boss said dismissively and, once he was done dressing, left the room, leaving Snake to his own thoughts. As soon as the older man was out of earshot, he stood, cursing under his breath because the pain in his back was fucking unbearable; he had no idea how he would survive training the next few days.

_By sheer will_ , he supposed. Big Boss wasn’t like any other CO, anyone around here knew that, but that was why everything he had to say and show would stick with you.

Long after the fact.


	3. Depravity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is part one of a fic I never got around to finishing, sadly. But I figured I might as well upload what I already have, maybe some day inspiration will strike again...
> 
> In this shippy BB/Snake headcanon version, Snake was obviously drawn to BB's depravity, and would have probably ended up the same way as him -- had he not realized how wrong it all was in the end.

Snake was no longer able to keep the tension in his body, and he slumped, his chin touching his chest, resting on a fresh bruise. The tip of a long and thin stick was pushed between, and used to raise his head again, forced to look the man who had tied him up here straight in the eye.

He was visibly bored. Big Boss scanned Snake’s face, glistening with sweat, a little red around the corners of his mouth.

"You should shave," he commented on Snake’s slight stubble. "That look doesn’t suit you."

Snake swallowed, spit mixed with blood. “I’ll keep that in mind. However,” he tugged at his bindings, “My hands are a little tied right now.” He somehow managed a lopsided grin, and Big Boss did the same, though it looked infinitely better on him.

That was their reality, and being grim about it all the time would make it impossible to cope with it. Snake had been tied to a chair in some designated room in the basement, then beaten and abused, though they simply called it _interrogation training_ —sounded much nicer and more professional. It had been part of the program even at the CIA, and Snake knew that they hadn’t even started yet; being beaten with a stick was still child’s play. Once they started kidnapping him in the middle of the night, dragged him to some random location to torture him and dare him to disclose classified information about FOXHOUND, that was when the fun really began.

Not to mention that Big Boss had taken it upon himself to teach Snake the fine art of Not Breaking. Usually Miller took care of all things interrogation and pain resistance, but like so often, Snake seemed to receive special treatment for whatever reason. But he liked it that way, because he liked having Big Boss’s attention, and feeling as though every session and conversation away from prying eyes was part of a secret that Big Boss shared just with him.

The stick, Big Boss’s current instrument, idly traced down some streaks of red and minor cuts that it had recently inflicted on Snake’s naked torso. He tried to steel himself for more of the same, straightening his back once more, but nothing came. Instead, it was placed aside.

Big Boss reached for a combat knife next, conveniently placed on a table right next to his seat, together with an assortment of other tools. Snake’s eyes widened and his pulse quickened, but he said nothing, not even as Big Boss stood and walked around him, until he was at his back. Snake didn’t look.

"Don’t piss your pants," Big Boss said, cutting away at Snake’s restraints; some rope held together by a very firm knot.

"That’s enough for today. You did well."

Snake mentally thanked a god that didn’t exist, and moved his hands to his front once they were free. Big Boss did the same, a hand on his hip as he looked down at the mess he was responsible for, but Snake knew it was nothing personal. Big Boss could never be Big Boss if he felt guilty and sorry about hurting people; even those that were allies, it was part of the job. Pain helped them to grow, and become more resilient.

Snake stared at the aching marks on his wrists where the rope had cut a little too deep, rubbing at them. He should be thankful that Big Boss was calling it a night, and yet he felt like he could take so much more—that couldn’t be his limit yet. He didn’t feel nearly sore enough, and too sober still.

He decided to do something very stupid in that moment, recalling the feeling of letting Big Boss dominate him entirely from the inside out, and reached out for the man’s belt with the intention of working it open.

Needless to say, he got what he deserved in form of a fist, aimed for the side of his head. Snake hit the ground hard, together with the wooden chair, now toppled over; darkness taking over all of his senses for a few precious moments, but Big Boss’s voice still pierced through it, ringing in his ears.

"What the _hell,_ Snake,” he snarled, sounding feral and about ready to bite his head off. “Did I give you permission? Answer me!”

Snake rang for words, and consciousness. “N…No… you didn’t.”

_I just wanted to…_

Big Boss kicked him over to roll onto his back, and Snake finally opened his eyes again, his vision still blurry as he looked up at his commander, witnessing another one of his very sudden, very violent outbursts—that never happened when anyone else was around, come to think of it.

_— Just between the two of us._

As Snake tried to sit up, Big Boss placed his boot between his legs, applying pressure without crushing him, but Snake gave a pained grunt anyway, as the older man snorted, half amused, half disgusted.

"Really, Snake. I didn’t figure you were _that_ depraved,” he said, and Snake finally rolled away from him, and pushed himself to his knees. “Yeah,” he breathed, wiping over his chin. “Just like you, right.”

Completely disregarding what had just happened, Snake’s hands went for Big Boss’s belt again, fumbling with it. And this time, his commander let him. Once he had freed Big Boss’s cock, Snake reached for his own tight pants, tugging the fabric down his thighs as much as he could to give himself some much needed space.

Here he was again, bloody and bruised and on his knees, hand and lips wrapped around Big Boss’s still flaccid cock, swallowing him as deeply as his abused throat permitted. In some hidden corner of his mind, he was aware that what he was doing was wrong and shameful and that he should find no joy in any of this, the way he was raised and treated, but he had no capacities left to care. In that moment, it felt great, right—natural. And the moment was all that mattered, Big Boss had taught him as much, and he believed him, unconditionally.

Big Boss’s hands pushed him deeper between his legs, and Snake almost choked. He could tell the man was trying to keep his own voice down, because there were still people nearby.

"Goddamnit," he hissed. _Timing_ , he’d say, were he not distracted by Snake’s mouth and tongue. _Your timing’s always off._ Big Boss’s protégé released him momentarily, only to slowly and sensually lick across his entire length, from base to head.

"Do me," Snake demanded. "I won’t make a sound."

Big Boss grumbled, displeased at this turn of events, but still considering it. They had time, in theory, but the location wasn’t the best.

_Who cares._

Someone else made that decision for him. A knock on the door, and reality came crashing back down.

"Boss? Are you done? We had that meeting scheduled on ten."

"Kaz," Big Boss cursed under his breath, and gave Snake an aggressive shove. "…Completely forgot… I’ll be there in a bit—" He called, and, turning away from Snake, hastily tucked himself back in.

"All right, don’t keep us waiting for too long," came the answer, then footsteps, into the other direction.

Snake’s dumbfounded response to all of that was, “What?” Still sitting on the floor, his gaze fixed on Big Boss and trying not to pout, but not really succeeding.

"You can’t seriously—"

"Jerk yourself off if you need it so badly," Big Boss gruffed. "Or fuck one of your buddies. Just don’t forget to clean up after yourself once you’re done. Now get out of here."

Snake couldn’t believe him, watching him smoothe his hair back and leave. He didn’t need anyone, he needed _this_.

_*_

It took some time until he was able to wear his pants properly again. Dismissed by Big Boss, now busy with more important things, Snake retreated to his quarters for the night, feeling bitter and unfinished and trying to swallow it all down.

His roommate, a guy who went by the codename Puma and two years older than him, was still up and reading, like on most nights. He looked up from his current book, some sci-fi novel or other, when Snake entered the room, the top of his BDU’s haphazardly slung over his shoulder, still exposing the majority of his injuries that way. It wasn’t much of a secret, anyway.

"Snake," Puma said, with a frown. "You look…"

"I know," replied Snake, not paying much attention and carelessly tossing said top into the designated dirty laundry corner. He could feel the other man’s gaze resting on his body even as he moved about, looking for some wet wipes to clean off the worst of it.

He knew it probably wasn’t just the bruises. Judging by those occasional passes made at him during their off time (which he shrugged off), as well as some very long glances thrown his way, Snake already suspected that his roommate was gay and interested in him, but he stuck to the _Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell_ policy. He expected the same courtesy being extended to him.

"What’s he done to you? Isn’t that taking it a little too far?"

"It’s really none of your business," Snake replied bluntly, but without malice. Part of him considered the other man, considered taking advantage of the situation, thinking back to Big Boss’s words—asking him for some late night sparring to release some tension and then pin him to the ground and fuck him.

He knew it wouldn’t really make a difference.

"Geez, okay. Sorry for asking."

Puma went back to his book, and Snake to cleaning himself. He climbed into his bed once he was done, not saying another word and waiting until the light was switched off for a while to masturbate, imagining Big Boss’s heavy weight on top of him.


End file.
